


The best plan ever

by Samara Lilly (Amber_Rose)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Rose/pseuds/Samara%20Lilly
Summary: Life in the country side suits Crowley and Aziraphale well. And they own a cat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 22
Collections: Ineffable Cats





	The best plan ever

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece was written for the Celestial Harmonies fanzine, but didn't make it into it. So I am free to post it here now. This is just pure fluff, hopefully perfect for this time of year. Enjoy!

“Crowley, darling?”  
Aziraphale opens the door to the kitchen and finds Crowley in one of his favorite spots: at the stove. The demon has tied his shoulder long hair back into a messy bun at the back of his head. He is wearing a dark red apron over his black jeans and shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Currently he’s adding some chopped vegetables to the stew already bubbling on the gas flame. Aziraphale remembers the argument they had about having a stove with an open flame versus the much safer version of a ceramic hob. Crowley has of course won, but to be fair: he is the one to cook most of their meals. Aziraphale helps from time to time until he gets distracted by something and lets something burn. It has happened before, and now Crowley always makes sure not to have any books lying around in the kitchen when ever Aziraphale is helping him. 

Crowley, having heard the soft voice of his angel, turns around and smiles at him. He smiles often nowadays, and Aziraphale finds, it suits him.   
“Angel. I don’t have any of your books here,” Crowley grins.   
“I know, I know. That smell lured me here. What is that? A new recipe?” Aziraphale comes closer. Crowley blows a stray strand of hair out of his forehead.   
“Freddie gave it to me when I delivered your honey. Thought you might like it.”  
Aziraphale, curious as always, tries to peer into the pot.   
“That looks scrumptious already.” 

Crowley chuckles. “The Hokkaido squash will need another 20 minutes. But you can set the table, if you like.”  
“What about the big pumpkin for Halloween?”  
“On a good way, but that’s not for you to eat. You wanted to make a jack-o’lantern for Halloween.”  
Aziraphale smiles. “We have been carving pumpkins for every Halloween since we moved here. It’s always so much fun, and why buy a pumpkin when we can grow our own?”  
“We? _I_ did grow that thing. Turns out nicely, though.”  
“Yes. Because you threatened the poor thing nearly to death.”  
“You wanted a big pumpkin. From nothing nothing comes,” Crowley shrugs. He gives the stew another good stir. When he puts the lid on the pot, he feels Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder and smiles. 

“If you wanted to help you’re a little late.” He turns his head and kisses Aziraphale on the cheek.   
“I forgot the time. This first edition I found at the auction last month is really amazing.”  
“Should have known you were immersed in some reading.”  
Aziraphale shrugs, but smiles. Then he looks at the pot again.   
“That’s a big pot of stew for only the two of us,” frowns Aziraphale.   
“Thought we could have the rest for lunch tomorrow. It will taste even better then. I’m gonna roast some bread with some garlic and thyme to soak up the sauce. You will love it.”  
“I’m sure I will. Always do. It’s a miracle I haven’t gone even more soft around my middle since we moved here.”  
“I don’t mind your soft middle. Makes the perfect pillow for me.” 

Aziraphale smiles. They both enjoy their quiet evenings when they are on their sofa in front of the fireplace, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap. Sometimes Aziraphale reads, sometimes he just plays with Crowley’s hair. Other evenings they talk about everything that comes to their minds. They often laugh about the most silly things. But one thing is always the same: they love spending time together. Like they were never allowed to before. 

Heaven and Hell have left them alone since the Armageddon-that-didn’t-happen. After a year had passed, Crowley had sold his Mayfair flat and has surprised Aziraphale with the cottage. They moved in a few weeks later. Aziraphale’s bookshop is still a bookshop, still selling second hand books. But Aziraphale has moved all his most precious books to his study here in the cottage. He visits the bookshop on a regular basis, but a young couple has taken over and manages everything for him. Crowley has his garden, his apple tree, his herb beds and the most amazing flowers. Aziraphale is keeping bees, and he sells most of the honey to the young man who runs the little grocery store in the village, Freddie. The rest is always a welcome gift to friends and neighbors. It’s been three years now that they live here. Both had feared living in the country side would bore them after the busy life in London. But it turned out it is just what they longed for for some time. 

Crowley turns to wash his hands and wipes them dry on a tea towel, then takes off his apron.   
“You want some cider to go with the stew? Freddie has recommended it. I bought us two bottles to try it.”  
Aziraphale’s eyes brighten. “It’s been centuries since I last had cider!”  
The demon chuckles. “Well, that’s settled, then. You set the table, I open the cider. We can have a glass before our dinner is ready.”

They try the cider in the kitchen: Crowley sitting on the table, Aziraphale leaning against the kitchen counter. Every now and again he is stirring the stew.   
“Have you seen A.J.?” asks the angel after he has put the lid back onto the pot. The stew should be finished in only a few minutes time.   
“Out on the patio in his favorite spot.”  
Aziraphale walks over to the window and looks outside. A.J., the old black tomcat, is sleeping peacefully on the little bench. Aziraphale chuckles.  
“You put out a pillow for him.”  
Crowley shrugs. “Well… He’s old, isn’t he. Should spend his last time as comfortable as possible. We should install a cat flap for him for the winter. He will love to sleep next to the fireplace.”

The black tomcat had shown up on their doorstep early spring after a thunderstorm, soaking wet. His insistent meowing had melted Aziraphale’s heart and he had convinced Crowley to let the cat in - just for the night, so he could dry and rest. But of course the cat had put up residence in their cottage. He is already pretty old, some of his teeth missing, one of his ears looking like a crushed leaf, and his whiskers are grey. But he still has a charming personality and he has purred his way into their home effortlessly. Aziraphale has asked around if anybody was missing him and was silently relieved that no one did. The name A.J. had been his idea. Crowley has grumbled a lot about it being silly and sentimental and stupid. The demon had suggested names, too, of course. Mephistopheles had been one of them. Aziraphale had plainly refused, and now A.J. is part of their lives. 

First it felt strange to have a pet. Neither of them has ever had one. But after only a few weeks it felt like it has always been like this. A.J. has already brought them a dozen of mice as gifts. Crowley has been proud of him, while Aziraphale had felt sorry for the poor things. With winter just around the corner, though, A.J. will likely spend much more time in the house.   
“Shouldn’t we call him inside? It’s getting dark already, and I don’t want him to get cold.” Aziraphale sounds worried. 

“I already looked after him an hour ago, but he just turned his back on me and slept on. Don’t worry too much about him.” Crowley hops down from the table now and pulls Aziraphale into a loving embrace. He nuzzles into Aziraphale’s pale curls and inhales deeply. This is the scent of home, of love and somehow eternity. They have established such a wonderful routine together… But then he hears Aziraphale’s stomach growl and can’t suppress a laugh.   
“You seem to be starving already. Let’s have dinner. And after that I can start a fire. Would you like that?”   
“That sounds marvelous. I’ll set the table.”

Dinner is delicious - like everything Crowley cooks. The cider is perfect with the stew, and Aziraphale has two helpings. Over dinner they talk about their friends in Tadfield, only an hour drive away. Crowley is still in contact with Anathema (and still calls her book girl which always makes Anathema cringe) and the Them. The children are already teenagers, and sometimes (even they don’t know why exactly, but they do nonetheless) they turn to Crowley when they had arguments with their parents. Crowley rarely gives advice, but surprisingly enough he is a good listener and that seems to be enough for the children. 

While Aziraphale clears the table, Crowley starts a fire in the fireplace in their living room and brings their glasses and the second bottle of cider over. Like they mostly do, Crowley settles down with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, socked feet against the arm rest of the sofa. They enjoy the crackling fire and their cider, until they are disturbed by a very loud and very insistent “Meooooow!”  
Crowley groans.   
“Told you, you should have taken him inside,” smiles Aziraphale.   
“And I told you he didn’t want inside when I checked on him.”  
“He’s old, my dear. He’s allowed some quirks.”  
“Meooooow!”  
“Yes, yes, coming!” 

Crowley leaves his comfortable spot on Aziraphale’s lap and saunters towards the door to their patio. A.J. is sitting right in front of the glass door and looks accusingly at him. Even after Crowley has opened the door, the cat keeps just staring at him, not moving.  
“Do you need an invitation, hm?” Crowley steps aside, but A.J. still doesn’t move. Instead he meows again.  
“Can cats get senile, angel?” Crowley asks and with a sigh scoops the tomcat up, closes the door and carries the cat over to the sofa.   
“I don’t know. Could be.”  
“His ears are ice cold. Stupid cat,” he grumbles and sits down next to Aziraphale. 

A.J. turns two times on Crowley’s lap. His claws bore into Crowley’s thigh, which makes the demon wince. Once A.J. has found a comfortable position, he begins to purr.   
“Stupid cat,” repeats Crowley, but with fondness in his voice. He can’t deny he likes the stubborn old cat and begins to stroke his silky ears to warm them up. The one that looks like a crushed leaf twitches under his touch. When Crowley stretches out his long legs towards the fireplace, A.J. opens his eyes and glares at him.

“Sorry, your majesty - your humble servant is not going to move for the next few hours,” Crowley murmurs. His gentle fingers have found one of the spots A.J. likes to have scratched most.  
“You’ve gone so soft for him,” Aziraphale murmurs and pecks Crowley on the cheek.  
“‘m not soft! You take that back!”  
“Absolutely not. You always tell _me_ you like me soft.”  
“That’s not the same and you know that.”  
“Fine, you foul fiend. You’re still an awful, naughty demon. But I love you nevertheless.”  
It must be the fire that tints Crowley’s cheeks with an endearing pink. Because a fierce demon would never blush like this, right? But Aziraphale decides not to mention anything about it. 

“That’s all your fault,” Crowley murmurs, talking to A.J. again, “We should have taken you to the shelter, you stubborn old sock…” His right thumb caresses A.J.’s left front paw - it’s white, the toes a lovely pink. The cat is sleeping so deeply already, it doesn’t react. Besides - Crowley is the only one allowed to touch A.J.’s paws. When ever Aziraphale tries, A.J. immediately pulls away and hides his paw. That makes Crowley always a little proud and smug. 

“Could you pass me my cider, angel?”   
Aziraphale hands Crowley his glass. “This cider is really good. We should buy some more.”  
“Sure. We can take a walk through the village tomorrow.”  
“That would be lovely. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day.”  
Crowley doesn’t comment on that. Every day spent with his angel is a beautiful day. But the weather forecast promised indeed a sunny October day. Crowley can’t wait to see the sunlight making Aziraphale’s pale curls shine like a halo.   
“I could wear that lovely cardigan you gave me last year. It may be a sunny day, but not very warm.”

Crowley doesn’t comment on that, either. Said cardigan was his latest Christmas gift. Aziraphale has worn it throughout the winter and had been truly sad came spring and it became too warm to wear it. Crowley tries his best not to blush again. It’s still so easy to make his angel happy…   
“And after our walk we can have the rest of your stew and some more of that cider.”   
Aziraphale scoots a little closer and glides deeper into the cushions of the sofa so he can rest his head agains Crowley’s shoulder. His hand finds its way into A.J. plush black coat. Their fingers brush from time to time while they pet the purring cat and the fire crackles in the fireplace. 

Crowley sighs and closes his eyes. He hasn’t been in heaven for six millennia now - apart from that hideous encounter a few years ago after the body swap. And he never wants to go back up there. Because this is heaven for him: this cottage, these moments with Aziraphale, the life they built together. There can be nothing better than that. Even A.J. seems to have the same opinion. The black cat sighs deeply, relaxes even more and the purr starts to turn into a light snore. Crowley chuckles. He turns his head and presses a loving kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead.   
“That sounds like the best plan ever, angel,” he smiles, “Ineffable or not. The best plan ever…”


End file.
